


Tie You in a Knot

by Neyiea



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Age Play, Daddy Kink, M/M, Size Difference, kind of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29791653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: He’s so sure that this is the way to wind Jeremiah so tightly around his finger that Bruce will never lose track of him afterwards. Jeremiah won’t willingly leave him behind again, not when he’s getting exactly what he wants. The opportunity to become Bruce’severything. The opportunity for Bruce to becomehis.A direct continuation ofWrap You Around My Finger
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	Tie You in a Knot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amvris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amvris/gifts), [Sheba_Al_Hurra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheba_Al_Hurra/gifts).



> If you can believe it I actually started writing this almost immediately after posting Wrap You Around My Finger _months_ ago. Got a few pages in and stopped (because that's what I tend to do) but my dear friends, as always, have inspired me to continue on.
> 
> I know two whole people who will enjoy this and anyone else is a bonus, haha.
> 
> xoxo

Movement from the kitchen to his bedroom is a blur of hallways and stairs and kisses; slow, stumbling movements because now that they’ve begun to give in to each other they can’t seem to stop. Bruce’s touches are tender and light—as if infused with an air of disbelief that this is happening, after so long and so much heartache it’s actually happening—while Jeremiah’s are desperate and clingy—a different kind of disbelief, as if he thinks that at any moment Bruce will come to his senses and put a stop to this. 

But he can’t. Not now. 

Not when he’s so sure that this is the way to wind Jeremiah so tightly around his finger that Bruce will never lose track of him afterwards. Jeremiah won’t willingly leave him behind again, not when he’s getting exactly what he wants. The opportunity to become Bruce’s _everything_. The opportunity for Bruce to become _his_.

Jeremiah cares for him with excessive intensity, uncalled for possessiveness, and a violence which is routinely unleashed upon anyone else that Bruce is close to; but the fact remains that it is his devotion and endearment toward Bruce which spurs even the most deplorable of his actions. If Bruce takes all of that yearning affection inside of himself—where it was meant for, where it belongs—then perhaps everything will begin to change for the better. Jeremiah will focus solely on him, instead of the schemes plotted out _for_ him, which inevitably shatters everything around Bruce to pieces because nothing but himself can withstand the fervor of Jeremiah’s emotions directly. 

It will not be easy to accept all of Jeremiah's boundless, obsessive, clinging adoration, but it will not be as difficult as it should be. Months ago, under the glow of radiant blue light, something like this had been what Bruce wanted. It is different, now, but close enough. Different, but familiar. 

The door to his bedroom finally swings open, and Jeremiah actually lifts Bruce up into his arms to carry him over the threshold and gently lay him upon the bed. It makes Bruce feel oddly precious and treasured, and he allows himself to lean further into those feelings.

“Daddy,” he breathes lowly, hands reaching out, and Jeremiah does not leave him waiting.

They’ve both waited too long, already.

His mind is spinning. His careful thoughts buzz in the background, growing dimmer and dimmer as something hot and instinctive lights up inside of him. He’s not losing his power and sway, not really, but the playing field between him and Jeremiah is evening out as Jeremiah puts aside his sinister plans for the night and steps into the adoring role that he has wanted so badly to take on. Jeremiah wants to indulge him, baby him, take care of him in every possible way. It has been a long time since Bruce has been so pandered to, and never like this, but he thinks that, maybe…

… He might like it, since it’s Jeremiah.

“What do you want, darling?” Jeremiah asks against Bruce’s mouth, his hands already in the process of stripping them both down to nothing. Gone are Bruce’s coat and gloves. Gone are his own suit-jacket and tie. “I’ll give you anything, everything.”

“Kisses, daddy,” he replies automatically, not allowing himself to feel ashamed at the way the words drip over his tongue like an aching plea because, just as he is beginning to lose himself, Jeremiah is losing himself, too. They’re dragging each other deeper into it, now. Every word and action reinforcing the intimate connection that is swiftly building between them. “Kiss me, please. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

Jeremiah makes a low, wanton sound before he lays kisses over Bruce’s cheeks and jaw, and down the line of his neck. His fingers slip up underneath of Bruce’s sweater to pull it over his head, and once Bruce’s chest is bare he lays a kiss over Bruce’s heart, looking up at Bruce in a way that is almost dreamy, as if he, too, is just as lost in this moment as Bruce is. 

They are still well-matched, even after everything.

Bruce slides his hands into Jeremiah’s hair as Jeremiah’s lips trace a line up his sternum, up his throat, to settle upon his mouth again. Bruce’s lips part and he shifts, the warmth inside of him growing and spreading as Jeremiah’s desperate, wet kisses and licks make him melt further. By pandering to Jeremiah’s desires—to care for him, to complete him, to touch him—Bruce is laying claim to Jeremiah in his own way. Jeremiah is in control, Bruce merely accepting and reciprocating, but there is something about being docile and yielding which is freeing. Bruce doesn’t have to worry about making the wrong decision, or misstepping, or being in charge. Bruce doesn’t have to overthink his actions and fret over choices. Bruce only has to give in to Jeremiah, which is easier than he thought it would be, and willingly receive all that Jeremiah wishes to give him. 

There will be no rejection tonight, only the sweetest of surrenders. 

Bruce’s fingers gently twist in Jeremiah’s hair as Jeremiah’s hands work between them, removing belts, unfastening buttons, undoing zippers. Jeremiah occasionally pulls back to look upon him, as if reveling in the sight of Bruce’s lipstick-marked face and kiss-bruised lips, but he always comes back down to Bruce before too long, unable to resist him.

Bruce’s pants slide off of his hips, then his underwear, then he toes off his socks as Jeremiah gets rid of everything left on his own body. The naked skin of their legs touch, and they both take a few moments to really look at each other wholly for the first time, nothing left to shield them from one another.

Jeremiah is big and broad with a terrible, deeply bruised, stitched set of wounds healing along his side which Bruce wishes he could kiss better. Other than the stab wounds he is all bleached-whiteness except for the flush of his mouth, and his cheeks, and the head of his hard cock.

Just looking at him is enough to make Bruce burn up. 

“You’re handsome,” Bruce murmurs, thoughts fluttering too wildly to tack on Jeremiah’s apparent favourite epithet even though it would doubtlessly make Jeremiah succumb to him faster. Jeremiah had always had attractive features, though the startling and heartbreaking transition in a graveyard months ago had kept Bruce from appreciating the new cast of his face and the sheen of his eyes. In all their time spent together Bruce had barely glimpsed much more than a bare wrist or collarbone beyond Jeremiah’s bared face, neck, and hands—likely because Jeremiah didn’t want to risk a chance of his secret getting out early—and now here he was, seeing everything all at once.

He wonders if Jeremiah feels just as overwhelmed as he does. If Jeremiah is struck by Bruce, just as Bruce is struck by him.

Bruce’s eyes trace up his thighs and linger perhaps a little too long over his erection before rising up to his shoulders and trailing back down his arms. Jeremiah was taller and wider, stronger, and could pick Bruce up with apparent ease which also meant he could hold Bruce down. Pin him to the bed, keep him close, make Bruce take everything even if it began to feel like too much. Jeremiah was the one in control and he could do anything to Bruce, and instead of making him nervous the knowledge makes him feel weak in the knees.

Jeremiah wanted Bruce to be his. Jeremiah would take good care of him.

“Oh, Bruce,” Jeremiah breathes, one hand reaching out to gently trace Bruce’s cheek, then spaying out to drag down, down his chest and abdomen. “You’re so beautiful.” His hand barely grazes against Bruce’s cock and Bruce whines, hips jerking. Jeremiah exhales unsteadily and lifts his hand away. “And you’re all mine.”

Jeremiah sucks two of his fingers into his mouth. When he pulls them out, slick with spit, he presses a blatant kiss to his fingertips, and then he reaches down to drag them along Bruce’s cleft.

His breath catches.

“Sweet boy,” Jeremiah nearly croons. “Beloved Bruce. Do you want me to kiss you inside, too?”

Bruce jerks and shudders, heart thrumming. He nods sharply.

“Ask me for what you want, darling boy.” His fingers drag wetly against skin, making Bruce’s breath hitch again. “Use your words, baby.”

That was just playing dirty. If he wanted to be unfair then Bruce could be his equal, his parallel, even in this. 

He grabs Jeremiah’s other hand and interlocks their fingers. He brings their hands up to his mouth to press a wet, sloppy kiss to Jeremiah’s knuckles. He squirms against Jeremiah’s slick fingers, fluttering his eyelashes and panting, looking up at Jeremiah like he’s everything.

And in the moment, he feels like it.

“Daddy,” he whines. Jeremiah is looking down at him like Bruce is everything, too, and it spurs him on even further, sending him fully tripping into the headspace he’d started unconsciously preparing himself for the moment he’d begun to think that maybe, maybe, he could take advantage of all that Jeremiah felt for him and wanted from him. “I want your kisses inside, too.” He spreads his legs wider, rocking his hips upwards. Jeremiah eyes briefly snap down, trying to catch a glimpse of dusky-pink, spit-slick skin. “Please, daddy, give it to me.”

“How could I ever say no to you, baby?” Jeremiah asks lowly, the usual brightness of his eyes heavily shadowed by the breadth of his pupils. “Especially when you ask so nicely.” His fingers slide against Bruce’s hole, circling it coyly. “Good boys are rewarded, Bruce, and you’re always such a good little boy, aren’t you?”

“I want to—” The first finger begins to shallowly glide in and Bruce grips tightly at Jeremiah’s hand, thoughts momentarily scattering. He is all heat and instinct. He is all love and obedience. He is all Jeremiah’s, just as Jeremiah is all his. “—be good for you, daddy. I want to be your good little boy. Tell me—” The finger slides deeper and Bruce shudders, feeling open and vulnerable in a way that he’s never experienced before. “—tell me what you want me to do.”

Jeremiah leans down to him, breathing heavily against Bruce’s mouth.

“Just kiss me, darling. All you have to do is kiss me. Daddy will take care of everything else.”

Bruce mewls softly, his free hand lifting up into Jeremiah’s hair again, his other clutching at Jeremiah’s fingers, and he lifts up his mouth to kiss Jeremiah as the hand between his legs works its way inside of him. It isn’t long before Bruce is pressed against the bed, Jeremiah licking into his mouth with the same fervor that his finger is opening Bruce up with. It’s not as wet as before, and it’s almost too much, but Bruce finds himself reveling in the feeling. 

He’s just a little boy who needs to be opened up for his daddy’s cock. It might be a bit tight, but he can take it. He’d take anything from his daddy, for his daddy. He kisses back to the best of his ability, moaning when the second finger begins to press in alongside the first. It’s so much, but not enough.

If Jeremiah tried to fuck him right now, would he even be able to get the head of his cock in?

Bruce pants, open-mouthed, as Jeremiah continues to kiss and finger him. The slide becomes rougher and rougher, until there isn’t any slick left and the discomfort abruptly sharpens.

“Daddy,” Bruce whimpers. “Please, please, it hurts.”

Jeremiah’s fingers withdraw completely and Bruce makes a high, miserable sound from being empty so suddenly. Then Jeremiah’s hands grip the back of Bruce’s thighs, forcing his legs up, his feet nearly kicking against the headboard as even his hips begin to lift off of the bed. Bruce watches with wide eyes as Jeremiah ducks down, pressing a kiss to the base of Bruce’s aching cock before spitting against his hole.

Bruce lets out a soft shriek and jolts, and Jeremiah’s adoring gaze locks on his face.

“I’ll get you nice and wet, baby. Daddy’s going to take care of you from now on. Next time I’ll plan things out a little better so that we have more supplies on hand, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make sure you’re good and ready.” He leans down to drag the flat of his tongue against the underside of Bruce’s cock without breaking eye contact, then he spits against Bruce’s wet hole a second time. “I’m going to fill you right up, Bruce.” One hand stays on Bruce’s thigh, keeping his legs spread wide open as the calf of Bruce’s other leg settles upon his shoulder, and his fingers return to slide through the slick. “You’ll take it all for me, won’t you?”

“I will,” Bruce promises breathlessly as he’s filled up again. “I want to take everything, daddy.”

“Such a darling boy,” Jeremiah croons, the red in his face betraying just how effected he is by Bruce’s sweet acceptance. There is power in giving in, and Jeremiah is already tying himself in a tight knot around Bruce’s little finger. He’s utterly weak for Bruce; weak for his kisses and promises and indulgences. Desperate for his attention and affection and acceptance. “I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can.” His fingers drive all the way inside and Bruce gasps, lurching underneath him, body still curled from the way that Jeremiah is effortlessly holding him open. “Tell me if it’s too much, baby, and we can take a break.”

“Keep going, keep going.” Bruce’s hands reach out. “Kiss me.”

Jeremiah huffs out a breath and lets go of Bruce’s thigh, his leg settles on Jeremiah’s other shoulder, and once again both are hitched upward as Jeremiah leans in to kiss him, slick fingers gliding into Bruce’s hole and dedicatedly playing with him until he begins to loosen up enough for a third.

Bruce gasps prettily against Jeremiah’s mouth, rendered nearly incoherent as he’s stretched open for the first time, but Jeremiah seems to enjoy all his soft little cries, murmuring words of encouragement and praise and adoration against Bruce’s lips as Bruce takes everything from him like a good little boy. Eventually Jeremiah retreats, Bruce’s legs slipping down his shoulders to bracket him, looking upon Bruce with such unadulterated devotion and passion that Bruce can’t believe that he’d kept himself away for so many months.

Never again, though. Never again. 

“Bruce; my darling, my sweetheart, my precious baby boy. I’ve wanted this for so long.” Jeremiah’s voice cracks with emotion. Bruce finds his eyes stinging with empathy, and maybe something more, because back before darkness and bombs and betrayal he had wanted something like this, too. Not exactly, but close enough, and then those dreams had been ground into dust. “I thought there was no chance of it, after everything.” Jeremiah’s free hand traces his face, reverent and adoring. “It pained me every day that we were parted, to think that we could never be bound by love.” Bruce turns to press a kiss to the heel of his palm, and Jeremiah shudders as his other hand slowly begins to withdraw from Bruce’s warmth. “I had thought that the only way left for me to be connected to you was through hatred.”

Bruce’s heart aches; deeply and profoundly. 

“Were you going to hate me?” 

“No, Bruce, no, no. I could never hate you. Not you.” Jeremiah presses wet kisses all over his face, nudging one knee between Bruce’s legs. “Never you. I still would have loved you more than anything, even if we were destined to be at odds until the end of time.”

Bruce’s throbbing heart skips.

“Tell me you love me.” He’s not sure if this will hurt him or not, once this is over and he has time to reflect upon everything, but he wants it all the same. “Tell me you love me,” he repeats, nearly breathless. “Tell me it’s the truth.”

“Of course I love you, darling boy. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, Bruce, and I never will. I love you.” Jeremiah kisses his mouth fervently. “I love you.”

“Jeremiah.” His voice is tremulous, his heart is racing. He’s known for months and months the reason why Jeremiah’s deception and scheming had wounded him more than any other breach of trust that Bruce had experienced in his life. “I love you.”

Above him Jeremiah pauses; just for a few seconds, just long enough for Bruce to see the flash of exultation transform his features into something soft and joyous, and then Jeremiah kisses him again with more desperation, more passion, more unending and eternal love. 

Bruce grids up against Jeremiah’s thigh, desperate and hot, feeling so unlike himself but so good. Jeremiah loves him. He loves Jeremiah. Everything else falls away in the wake of those feelings. Bruce could let go, here. Allow himself to be taken care of, here. Be loved and adored and kissed and petted and doted on so devotedly as he was fucked. 

“Daddy, let me get you wet, too,” he whines against Jeremiah’s ravenous mouth. “Please let me suck your cock.” Above him Jeremiah shudders and Bruce continues to press kisses against his now-still mouth as he speaks. “I want to. I love you. Please, daddy.”

“I wish I had the patience to play with you for hours, darling,” Jeremiah rasps, fingers winding into Bruce’s hair. “I’ll make it up to you, after.” He begins to draw back and Bruce scrambles after him, not even letting Jeremiah get far enough that he has to tug. Jeremiah sits back on his heels, the head of his cock even darker than it had been as it juts upwards, practically begging for Bruce’s attention. 

Bruce presses a soft, fleeting kiss to Jeremiah’s mouth before his attention shifts down, one hand splaying on Jeremiah’s thigh, the other wrapping around the base of his dick as Bruce ducks down to kiss the slit. 

Kitten-licks and chaste-kisses on the head and down the shaft, that’s what he starts with to build up his nerve. Jeremiah pets his hair and does his best to keep from rocking up too hard against Bruce’s mouth, but he’s obviously low on self-control. Bruce likes that, though. Likes knowing that Jeremiah is trying so hard to be a good daddy, likes that he’s the only thing that has ever made Jeremiah’s willpower evaporate into nothing. Bruce laps the flat of his tongue against Jeremiah’s slit, gathering up the drops of precum, and keeping his mouth open as he glances up through his lashes, letting Jeremiah take in the sight of him like this before he closes his mouth and swallows.

“Bruce,” Jeremiah grits out, his hands digging deeper into Bruce’s hair as he wrestles with his own desires. “Suck daddy’s cock, darling. Be a good little boy for me.”

“Yes, daddy,” Bruce breathes before he does as he’s told, sucking the head of Jeremiah’s cock into his wet, wanting mouth. He takes in as much as he can, lips stretching, tongue gliding, moaning half for show and half out of genuine desire, so eager to do this. So eager to indulge. So eager to make sure that Jeremiah never leaves him behind again. He has to pull back a few times, coughing and gagging after trying to take too much, go too fast. Jeremiah pets his hair and praises him through it all, and Bruce’s love-filled heart flutters at every word, every sharp inhalation, every sigh, every jolt as Jeremiah thrusts his hips up because he simply can’t help it. Jeremiah is losing himself, and it’s all because of Bruce. Jeremiah had made so many wretched plans, and it was always all for Bruce. Loyalty, devotion, eternal love; what more could a boy possibly want?

Bruce’s eyes flutter shut and he lets Jeremiah begin to take full control of him, not resisting as he pushes Bruce’s head further down, and keeps him there, and fucks up into his mouth however he wants. It feels good to be directed, to know that he can follow instead of lead, to not make decisions, to allow himself to trust someone else so completely. 

He hums lowly and Jeremiah’s fingers twist almost tight enough to hurt as he tugs Bruce upwards.

“Bruce, Bruce,” he pants, guiding Bruce up, kissing his slack mouth, pressing him back against the bed. “I’m ready, darling, I promise I’ll take care of you. I love you so much, Bruce, I won’t ever let you forget it.” He lines the soaking head of his cock up with Bruce’s hole, and Bruce’s arms wind around his shoulders.

“I want you, I love you,” Bruce rasps softly, and Jeremiah lays even more kisses upon his face as he starts to slide inside. “Ahh,” Bruce gasps, legs jerking on either side of Jeremiah’s hips, arms circling around him tighter. Jeremiah pulls back slightly, then presses in deeper. “Ahh, _daddy_.”

“Relax, Bruce, you can take it all, I know you can.” Jeremiah peppers kisses across his cheeks and forehead; dragging out, pressing in. “You’ll take it just for me.” Bruce squirms, not able to keep still, breathing with an open mouth as his mind flashes. Big. Hard. Thick. Hot. Jeremiah. Jeremiah. Daddy. Daddy.

“Daddy.” He’s shaking. “Please.” He doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Shh, don’t worry, Bruce. It’s alright, darling. You’re taking daddy’s cock so well. You’re such a good boy, perfect just as you are, and daddy can’t wait to fill you up.” He drags out, he presses in. “We’re almost halfway.” Bruce makes a low sound, astonished and aroused, and Jeremiah chuckles roughly. “You can take it, we were made for each other.” Jeremiah presses kisses to the corners of Bruce’s eyes. He’s shaking, too, Bruce can feel him trembling in his arms with the effort it’s taking for him to go slow. “You for me, me for you. I never believed in destiny until I met you, precious boy.”

Bruce’s heart skips and he melts, guiding Jeremiah back down to his mouth for a kiss, keeping him close and loving him softly as tender, steady progress finally brings Jeremiah’s hips to press flush against him. Bruce huffs out a shallow breath as his hands begin to drag in Jeremiah’s hair, and Jeremiah pants against his mouth. They’re not kissing any more, but they’re so close that their lips brush together with every slight movement.

“I knew you could do it, baby,” Jeremiah tells him, voice wavering. “I knew you could take everything I want to give you. Oh, Bruce, if I’d dared to dream that I could have you and be bound to you by love I never would have left you behind.”

“You’re here with me, now.” Here with Bruce, always. “You never forgot about me. You came back to me. That’s what matters.”

“I would have always come back. Even if we were bound to oppose each other forever, even if you didn’t want me to, I would have always come back to you.” His lips glide along Bruce’s cheek, moving towards his ear to whisper, as if it’s a secret, “You’re my everything, Bruce.”

_My opposite, my equal, my everything._

Bruce turns his face to press soft kisses to whatever part of Jeremiah he can reach, and shallowly bucks his hips upwards. He can feel and hear the air get punched out of Jeremiah’s lungs at the movement, and he allows himself a hidden smile as he kisses Jeremiah once more.

“You’re my everything, too,” he says, and Jeremiah—triple looped, double knotted, wrapped so tightly around Bruce’s little finger that nothing would be able to slide between them and cut him away—shudders. “I love you.”

Jeremiah makes a low, needy sound—composure continuing to erode away in the wake of such a longed-for reciprocation—and he begins to draw back, rocking forward with just enough force that Bruce is the one who is left gasping.

“I love you, Bruce.” Back he slides, in he rocks; warm and big. Bruce lurches underneath him, the drag of Jeremiah’s dick inside of him making every part of him flutter. One of Jeremiah’s hands stays loosely entangled in Bruce’s hair, the other drags up Bruce’s shoulder and arm, gently pulling Bruce’s limb from around his neck so that he can entwine their fingers together. “I’m going to take care of you from now on.”

He means it more than just the times like these, more than taking on the role that he had wanted so badly to slip into, more than sex. Bruce—who tries so hard, and does so much, and worries about decisions and missteps and mistakes—has grown used to a certain amount of self-reliance, even while among the people who he trusts the most. He’s not used to being taken care of; not like this, and certainly not in every-day life. 

But he might like it, since it’s Jeremiah. 

“I’ll take care of you, too,” he promises, gripping back at Jeremiah’s hand. He’ll love and indulge Jeremiah every day, let Jeremiah lay claim to every piece and part of him—heart and soul, mind and hands, mouth and throat, dripping dick and tight ass, and everything else Jeremiah could possibly want—and be a good, obedient boy who takes and takes all that Jeremiah wants to give and give. Take his love and obsession and kisses and cock, take his spit and blood and cum. Accept it all until it feels like too much, and then take even more because Jeremiah will hold him down and tell Bruce that he knows he can do it, and Bruce will pliantly open himself up wider to receive it all; flooded with Jeremiah. Full. Overflowing.

Bruce jerks and shudders when Jeremiah thrusts into him, still shallow, but harder than before.

Full, he thinks. Overflowing, he thinks.

“Want your cum, daddy,” he slurs, too turned on, too deep in his headspace, for eloquence. “Want it inside of me.” Jeremiah jerks, fucking into Bruce hard enough that Bruce whines and arcs his back, squirming underneath of him and spreading his legs wider. “Ahh, _ahh_. Daddy, please.”

“I’ll give it to you, Bruce.” Jeremiah pulls back and fucks into him hard and fast. “Daddy’s going to give you everything,” he promises, laying sloppy kisses over Bruce’s face and squeezing his hand tight. “I’m going to cum inside of you, precious boy.” His voice has the slightest of shakes, passions further ignited by his own words. “I’ll fill you up. Wet.” He pulls back almost all the way and shoves in hard enough that Bruce cries out. “Messy.” His hand disentangles with Bruce’s fingers to reach up and run through his hair. “Mine.” His fingers twist into the strands and he holds Bruce there, cradling his face with his other hand as he leans in to say against Bruce’s mouth, “You’re going to cum on my cock.” When he pulls back his thumb drags against Bruce’s lips and Bruce unthinkingly, instinctively, sucks it into his mouth and watches Jeremiah’s already crumbling composure be ground into dust. “I’ll make it so good for you, baby.” His fingers drag out of Bruce’s hair and reach down, down, to rub against the wet head of Bruce’s dick.

Bruce lurches and whines, sucking on the thumb in his mouth harder as he rolls his hips, trying to take Jeremiah deeper. The slide of his cock is becoming rougher, the make-shift slick of their spit drying out, but the ensuing ache is good, in a way.

The feel of Jeremiah inside of him is going to linger long after they’re done. 

Bruce shuts his eyes and sucks Jeremiah’s thumb and rocks underneath of him, mind going curiously blank. There are no plans or schemes or lingering thoughts of Jeremiah winding himself around Bruce too tightly to ever be lost. There is only Bruce and Jeremiah and the building pressure; the feel of receiving all that he is meant to take, the sensation of being indulged and loved, the desire to open himself up for all that Jeremiah means to give him.

Jeremiah’s hand curls around his dick. Jeremiah’s cock drives into him. Jeremiah’s thumb presses hard against his tongue.

Jeremiah, Jeremiah, Jeremiah.

Bruce starts to shake, heat sparking within him, the pressure spiking to the point where he can barely hold it in. 

Daddy, daddy, daddy.

“Daddy,” Bruce whines around the thumb in his mouth. “I’m close, I’m close.”

“Me too, baby,” Jeremiah murmurs, thumb dragging out from between Bruce’s lips so that he can enfold Bruce in his arms, holding him so close and so tight that it seems as if Jeremiah is the only thing left in the whole world. “Let go for me, Bruce. Let go for daddy. I’ve got you.” He presses a wet kiss to the side of Bruce’s face, his movements jerky and irregular. The slick is all but gone and every plunge of his hips is jarring; a stark reminder that Jeremiah is big, that Bruce is stuffed full, that Bruce is going to be feeling this for days. “I’ve got you.”

Bruce is safe, here. Bruce can let go, here. Bruce is loved, here. 

The building pressure begins to release.

Something like a sob falls from his mouth as he shudders and shakes through his orgasm, muscles growing taut and loosening, the feeling of Jeremiah inside of him both too good and too much, the kisses being pressed against his face both sweet and possessive, everything a double-edged sword for him to be cut open on, everything making his mind spin so hard he can’t even keep track of what he’s saying even though he is distantly sure that his mouth is moving. He is finally descending into peace, heart pitter-pattering behind his ribs, when Jeremiah holds him tighter and fucks into him hard enough that Bruce sees stars behind his closed eyes. 

It becomes too much, then, rough and verging on painful, but between the sound of skin on skin and the frantic buzzing in Bruce’s head is Jeremiah’s voice; loving him and praising him and telling him _I know you can take it, Bruce, darling_ and Bruce wraps his open legs around Jeremiah’s hips, winds his arms around Jeremiah’s shoulders, and pulls him closer, closer, closer, until there’s not even air left between them as he burrows his hot face in the crook of Jeremiah’s neck and accepts what he wanted so badly. His daddy’s warm cum fills him up and drips out of his hole, making everything slick again, making Bruce whine and smoulder.

“That’s it,” Jeremiah’s voice is low and gravelly as his movements begin to slow. “You were so good, Bruce. So good for me. I knew you would be, darling. I knew we could be great together.” Jeremiah’s hands press into his back, his face nuzzles into Bruce’s hair, he’d fuse them together forever, if he could.

Or was that Bruce, who would do such a thing?

Or perhaps it was both of them after all. Well-matched in all things, including their efforts to twist themselves around each other. 

Jeremiah goes still and Bruce lays underneath of him, panting against flesh, awareness slowly beginning to draw over him like the tide coming back in. 

His breath hitches, his heart twists. He’s not sure why—maybe it’s because of their shared ‘I love you’s, maybe it’s because he gave himself over completely in a way he never has before—but he can feel tears begin to build up in his eyes, stinging. Jeremiah brought him up so high but now Bruce is starting to crash; hurtling down, down, down. 

Jeremiah presses a soft kiss to his hair and begins to pull back, no doubt wanting to look upon his face. Bruce’s hands clutch at him, trying to buy time to pull himself together, even if it’s only a few extra seconds, but all of Jeremiah slips backward: face and hands and softening cock, the departure of which causes Bruce to make a warbling, embarrassing noise which only makes him feel more raw. 

Jeremiah’s hands cup his burning face and Bruce cannot look away from him even if he is, for some incomprehensible reason, on the verge of crying. 

“Oh, darling,” Jeremiah breathes, bright eyes tracing over Bruce’s expression as his reverent fingers trace over Bruce’s cheeks. “Was that too much?”

His voice isn’t mocking or babying, still, Bruce can’t be sure of his own answer. Nothing had felt like too much _in the moment_. Now, though, the moment has come to its inevitable end, and Bruce’s mind is flickering with recent memories that are beginning to make him feel quietly mortified despite what it all had made him feel as little as a minute ago. 

“Bruce?” Jeremiah leans closer to him. Their foreheads brushing together, Jeremiah’s breath drifting over Bruce’s mouth like a soft kiss. It’s softly intimate. It’s something that Bruce wanted months and months ago. It’s something he’ll probably always want. “Are you alright? Please answer me, darling.”

“That was a lot—” He catches himself before the title flashing in his mind has a chance to roll over his tongue, glad he’s already flushed if only because it camouflages the new heat blooming in his cheeks. “—Jeremiah. I’ve never…” Never let anyone have that much power over him without being practically brainwashed or outright forced into it. The knowledge makes the stinging in his eyes sharpen, and Jeremiah’s thumbs brush against the lower lids of his eyes, patient, heartbreakingly gentle. The tenderness just makes Bruce feel even more like crying. 

And he can let go, here.

Can’t he?

“Jeremiah, stay with me?” He feels almost foolish for asking, because that had been the whole point of this, hadn’t it? To make sure Jeremiah would stay with him. But he doesn’t think he can stand to be alone right now, not even for a second. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce, I promise.” Jeremiah presses kisses to his cheeks and forehead. “You don’t have to worry Bruce, I’ll take care of you. Even when it’s not sex, I’ll take care of you.” Jeremiah rolls onto his side, pulling Bruce with him, their legs tangling together. “We can stay like this for a while, if you’d like, and then I’ll draw you a nice warm bath. I’ll do everything I can to make sure that you’re okay; physically, mentally, emotionally…” Jeremiah runs a hand through Bruce’s hair. “I love you, and I’m going to look after you.”

“And after?” Bruce asks, hesitant, heart in his throat.

“After…” Jeremiah nuzzles his face against Bruce before whispering in his ear. “We’ll figure it all out together, darling boy, now that we’re bound to each other by love.”

Together.

Some of the lingering tension eases.

Bruce nestles closer against Jeremiah’s chest, pressing a kiss against him as his hands softly wind into Jeremiah’s hair. A tear slips down his cheek, but he’s not embarrassed for it to be falling. It feels good to let go, to let it out. The surge of emotions—the endorphin spike and crash—don’t have to be hidden away and concealed in order for him to save face and appear strong. He’s allowed to feel, allowed to be soft. He’s safe, here in Jeremiah’s arms. In a way he’s never been safer than he is now. 

“I love you, Jeremiah,” he admits, and the final knot is drawn tight. 

To be connected by love will be so much sweeter than to be connected by hatred.


End file.
